


Before the Fall of Erebor

by Saraleee



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Dragons, Dwarven Politics, Erebor, F/M, Het Sex, Oral Sex, Silmarillion - Freeform, Slow Build, Violence, dwarven gender, gold-sickness, income inequality, valaquenta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3918607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraleee/pseuds/Saraleee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Nwalin Week 2015 -- In the glory days of Erebor, a Peacekeeper and a wily thief must work together to fight an enemy hidden in the highest ranks of dwarven society.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Erebor

**Author's Note:**

> I'm relying on the movie-verse for the ages of the dwarves. In the prologue to AUJ, Thorin is a youngish adult dwarf. That would mean that Dwalin is about the same age. Dori is a female-identifying adult, Nori is a young adult, and Ori is just out of babyhood.

It was not that there were no warnings – but for a long time, no one listened.

These were the glory days of Erebor. A mere 180 years before, King Thror had brought his people back to the mountain and now it was the mightiest kingdom in Middle-earth. Thror ruled with utter surety, his line secure in his son, Crown Prince Thrain, and grandson Prince Thorin.

Dwalin Fundinul, noble son of the House of Durin, breathed deep as he walked through the Lower Marketplace, his sharp eyes scanning the shabby crowd for trouble. So different from the elegant, lofty halls of the Royal Household, where he'd been raised and where he had worked until so recently.

Just a few months ago, his life had been very different. Dwalin remembered the day it all changed.

Young Prince Thorin had been grumbling and pacing back and forth in his private chambers. There had been some sort of argument with Thranduil of Mirkwood in the Throne Room. Dwalin didn't know what the problem had been – probably one of those complicated strategic maneuvers that Kings got involved in. Statecraft was a complete mystery to Dwalin. He was just glad that Balin was the smart one in the family. Being Thorin's bodyguard was not very exciting, but at least it didn't make his head hurt.

Passing the table in the center of the room, the Prince plucked a fresh grape from a silver platter and tossed it high in the air. With a quick movement he caught it in his mouth and chewed with delight. Grapes were out of season, but Thorin liked them so there were always plenty.

The Prince glanced over at his best friend and Royal Bodyguard, standing at parade attention beside the massive door, and said, “You're bored. Admit it, you hate being a Royal Guard.”

Dwalin shook his head and looked down, idly kicking his heel backwards into the stone wall. “No! Of course I want to be your guard. It's just...”

Thorin interrupted. “There's nothing to guard me from, Dwalin.”

Dwalin grinned. “Lady Julis.” He lifted up his hand and ticked the names off on his fingers. “Lady Charis. Lady Anais. Lady...”

Thorin lifted a hand to stop him. “All right, all right. But what I'm saying is, if you want to do a stint on the Peacekeeper's Patrol, you should do it.” He paced over to stand in front of Dwalin. “I'll talk to the Captain of the Guard and Keeper of the Peace for you. It will help you get practical experience.”

Dwalin nodded, his heart too full of gratitude to speak. His friend and cousin knew him so well, and was always willing to use his influence to help others around him realize their dreams. Thorin was the best – observant, caring and generous. One day, he would make an excellent King.

Thorin gripped his shoulder and smiled. “You'll be great.” Then his smile faded. “Someone ought to be doing something practical around here.”

And now, thanks to Thorin, Dwalin was where he belonged, patrolling the streets among the common folk of Erebor. In a way, it was relaxing. These were simple dwarves with simple needs and straightforward ways of satisfying them. They were direct, raw, uncomplicated – much more like Dwalin himself than the clever, calculating nobles he was related to by birth.

Dwalin had just sent a death-glare at a tousled street urchin getting ready to pick a pocket when a dwarrow with a jewelry-booth yelled, “Thief! Stop that thief! He stole from me!”

Heads lifted and turned. The jewelry-merchant pointed. Dwalin saw a flash of red hair as the thief rounded a corner, plunging down an alley way into darkness. Happy to be in his element, he gave chase.

Dwalin pounded down the alley. In front of him, the red-haired thief halted for just a moment too long before darting down a passageway between two tumbledown houses. Slow. Ha! Dwalin knew the Poor Quarter like the back of his hand now – he was going to collar this shameless thief —

He rounded the corner at a run and found himself in a small dead-end courtyard. Dwalin stopped, puzzled. This passage led through to one of the main thoroughfares! He'd walked this way just a week ago. The dry-laid wall in front of him was very new.

But the wall didn't matter, because the red haired thief was standing right in front of him. Waiting for him. Lounging against the unmortared stones of the hastily built wall, and bouncing a small leather pouch in one hand.

“You're under arrest,” Dwalin growled, advancing upon the thief.

“Took you long enough.” The thief grinned and tossed the leather pouch to Dwalin, who caught it instinctively. “If I'd really wanted to run, I'd have lost you back at the first turning.”

Dwalin shook his head. “Giving it back won't get you off the hook. Merchants don't like thieves. _I_ don't like thieves.”

“Don't worry about the merchant.” The thief casually flicked back their long thick braid of red hair. “I wanted to talk to you in private, and this was the easiest way to work it.”

“We have nothing to talk about, _thief_.”

The other dwarf sighed. “That 'thief' business is already getting on my nerves. Call me Nori.”

“You're under arrest, Nori,” Dwalin said.

The thief put one hand on a slender hip and gave Dwalin a knowing smile. “Come on, Peacekeeper, drop the act. I've been watching you. You're the kind who catches thieves because you're too stiff-necked to steal in the first place. You live for a good dust-up. Fisticuffs in the street, a tavern-brawl, or even knives in a dark alley, that's what gets your blood heated up. I know it and you know it.”

The redhead was good looking in an unconventional way, small and lean instead of full-bodied and strong, but that abundant hair was beautiful, foxy-red and elaborately styled into three peaks. The russet beard was luxuriant, too, braided up into multiple braids and gathered into three big clasps. If all those braids were undone, a dwarf's hands would sink into that grippable softness... No. Not the time or place for that. He didn't even know this dwarf well enough to ask their gender and preference. Dwalin cursed himself, his hands bunching into fists.

“Shut up.”

Unfazed, the thief looked him up and down, that quick hazel gaze stripping off Dwalin's olive-drab Peacekeeper's uniform. “Nice big muscles, too. I bet you'd look a treat, sweaty and shirtless and ready to knock down anyone who crossed you.”

Dwalin's face and ears burned. “Too bad I'm not interested in fighting any underage thieves,” he sneered.

The small redhead looked outraged. “I've been of legal age for five years.”

Curse it, Dwalin refused to be attracted to a dwarf he didn't even know, just because he had a thing about beautiful hair. There were rules. In Dwalin's personal code, a good dwarf didn't just take one look at a cocky, disreputable thief and want him. Her? Them? Some dwarves expressed their gender and some did not, and often there was no way to tell a dwarf's gender when it didn't matter for the business at hand.

And it _didn't_ matter.

This was ridiculous. Dwalin shook his head. He never... Growling, he took a threatening step toward the thief.

“Don't get hasty,” Nori said, leaping nimbly out of reach. “You need me. You don't know it yet, but you do. There's something big brewing, something nasty, and you need me to help you find it and get rid of it before it explodes. You think you're tough but wouldn't last a day in the Seven Hells, not a righteous dwarf like you. Not alone.”

Dwalin blinked, his fury vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He almost laughed. He'd heard some pretty choice nonsense in his day, but this beat all of it. What had this thief been smoking, elf-weed?

He shook his head and pulled the handcuffs out of his belt. “That's it. I've listened long enough.”

The thief raised one hand, palm outward, stopping him. “No. The elves in the Seven Hells are worried. They're whispering about evil within the mountain. I bear a message to you from the Taran – he says there is someone who wants to speak with you at his court. In secret.”

The Taran? This thief carried messages for the leader of the elven enclave? Right. And he probably had a mithril mine he wanted to sell, too.

“You _have_ been smoking elf-weed,” Dwalin snorted. “Come along quietly, and I won't have to break anything.”

He reached out to take the thief by the arm. The redhead dodged away. “I'm serious!”

A new voice, soft and languid and laden with the accent of elvish speech, broke in. “Is this the one you were sent to find, Nori?”

Dwalin looked up to see an emaciated elf draped bonelessly over the topmost blocks of the barrier that spanned the street. The creature wore the clothes typical of the of the elves that haunted the Seven Hells – loose smoke-gray tunic fastened in front with loops of braided cord, over matching gray trousers and flat black slippers. The elven face was pinched and sharp, the skin drawn over prominent cheekbones, the large eyes set in deep shadowed hollows.

The elves of the Seven Hells had come to Erebor as traders. They were the Mountain's primary source of medicinal herbs, but they lived together in their own private enclave and rarely mixed with the dwarves. Originally, the area they inhabited had been called the Seven Hills, since it was under the foothills of the mountain proper, but over time it had become known by another, less attractive name, mostly because of the stories that had grown up around the place. Some dwarves said the elves were healers with knowledge that was hidden from dwarves. Others said their motives were more sinister. The problem was, nobody knew for sure.

Dwalin looked back at the thief. “You are actually working for elves?”

Nori raised those red eyebrows. “I've got my reasons.”

Dwalin glanced up at the elf. “What's going on?”

“My master, the Taran, has a distinguished guest who wishes to speak with you.” The elf floated down from the wall. “We will go now. You will be in no danger while in my company.”

Dwalin glared at Nori, who shrugged. The elf glided away, heading in the direction of the Seven Hells district. Sighing, Dwalin stomped along behind the elf, leaving Nori to follow in their wake.

Despite the gaunt, pale elf's assurance of protection, Dwalin had his doubts. The elf looked like a strong wind might have toppled them. What good would such a frail-looking creature be in a fight?

The elves of the Seven Hells were just as distant and arrogant as the courtly elves that had accompanied Thranduil on his latest visit to see Thror. They also seemed to regard the dwarves who came to them as some sort of lesser breed. However, they were more interested in plants than in beautiful gems. Their favorite plant was elf-weed, also known as kingsfoil, which when dried and smoked drew its users into a dreamy, trance-like state. He'd also heard that they were seekers after mystic knowledge. There were lots of rumors about the elves.

They approached the oddly curvy gates that marked the entrance to the Seven Hells. At some point, Nori had caught up to them and now stood quietly by Dwalin's side.

The skinny, stick-like elf gave a password in the liquid elvish tongue, and then turned to address Dwalin. “My master will see you now, Dwalin son of Fundin, of the House of Durin.”

So the elves of Erebor knew exactly who he was. That wasn't good news.

Dwalin bowed carefully, never taking his eyes off the elves he could see. “Lead on.”


	2. Folk Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin finds out why the elves want to talk to him and what they want him to do. He also learns a little bit more about Nori.

The Peacekeeper named Dwalin looked grim as he, Nori and their elven guide approached the curvy archway that led into the Seven Hells.

Erebor's elven enclave was always oddly quiet. No hammers rang, no deep voices sang – there was nothing but the murmuring splash of fountains. Elves glided along the paved stone walkways that meandered among slender columns that resembled the trunks of trees.

Dwalin lifted his bearded chin and squared those massive shoulders as if bracing himself for an unpleasant experience. “Elves,” the big Peacekeeper muttered under his breath.

Their elven guide directed a chilly look at him. To lighten the atmosphere, Nori said cheerfully, “I like this place. Lots of nooks and crannies.”

Dwalin's lip curled scornfully. He probably expected Nori to like this place, with all its potential hiding places for a thief's stolen goods. Actually, Nori did – there wasn't a straight line anywhere in the whole place. It was all curves and circles and swirls. It had potential.

The guide led them quickly along. Eventually they came to the chamber of the Taran. The room was smoky and dim, with a low ceiling. Dark lumpy figures lay on couches scattered around the room and in niches carved into the stone walls. The strange herb perfumed the air with a dizzying smell. Tall, slim elves bent over the forms on the couches, laying a hand on a forehead here, or holding a wrist between slender fingers there.

Nori knew the Seven Hells well enough to breathe shallowly, but Dwalin was waving one broad hand in front of his face in an effort to dispel the choking fug of smoke. The Peacekeeper was so stubbornly dwarfish, he wasn't even trying to adapt to his surroundings. Nori, always flexible, had already started copying the slinky smooth walk of the elves, gliding along with both palms pressed together in a prayerful attitude. It was entertaining to see how much it annoyed Dwalin, who pressed his lips together and ostentatiously ignored Nori's performance by pretending to be more interested in the bodies on the couches.

Suddenly, Dwalin's knuckles rapped sharply against Nori's shoulder. The big dwarf's voice was a shocked hiss. “Some of those are dwarves!”

“Shh,” Nori replied. Now was not the time to pay attention to the slumbering forms all around them.

They had come to a stop in front of a round raised platform shaped like a water-lily pad. Standing to one side, like a servant, stood the Taran, the leader of the elven community. This elf wore the plain gray outfit and a strange flexible necklace with a cone-shaped pendant. Their guide bowed. “Taran.”

The Taran bowed in return, then turned toward the platform. A heap of cushions had been piled on the lily pad, and on the cushions reclined a tall elegant elf whose handsome dark eyebrows contrasted dramatically with his long mane of silver hair. Slender as a willow-wand, he glowed with supple health and youth while at the same time he seemed to be something ancient and timeless. He was as beautiful as a crystal – and dangerous as a wild beast.

“King Thranduil,” said their elf-guide, bowing low to the silver-maned elf. The Taran followed suit.

King Thranduil's icy blue eyes inspected Dwalin. Then he asked Nori, “Is this the one?”

Nori nodded.

“Very well. Your debt to us shall be considered paid.”

 _Oh, Mahal, Dwalin's not going to like the sound of that,_ Nori groaned inwardly.

Right on cue, Dwalin's head whipped angrily around, but two elves grabbed and held him before he could do more than direct a murderous glare at Nori.

“Stop,” came the sharp voice from the platform. “Calm yourself, for I will not permit any violence against the elves in this place. You, Dwalin son of Fundin, shall carry my message to the King Under the Mountain.”

Dwalin snarled and shook off the elves. “I'm not a courier. Talk to King Thror yourself.”

Thranduil looked as if he'd bitten into something sour. “The Dwarf King will not listen to me. Perhaps he will listen to one of his own kin, and act before his madness brings ruin upon us all.”

“He is not mad!” Dwalin shouted. The elves grabbed him again.

Nori watched warily. It was difficult to know if Dwalin's defense of King Thror was simply a knee-jerk reaction to the elf king's sneering accusation, or if Dwalin truly didn't see anything wrong with King Thror's increasingly erratic political decisions. Dwarves in the Poor Quarter of Erebor had always struggled just to make ends meet, but in recent years the struggle had become even harder. Wages hadn't been raised in years, and food was scarcer and more costly than before. Tales of the luxurious lifestyles of the wealthy mine-owners didn't help matters, and many blamed the King under the Mountain for the growing gap between rich and poor.

“Enough,” Thranduil said. “Listen, and remember.”

The elf king leaned back among the cushions and took a sip from a goblet of wine. Then he spoke.

“My people were the first born, the first to be awakened by Eru Iluvatar in the beginning of all things. Many of us are old, compared to you mortals with your brief lives no longer than the blink of a firefly. The elves endure, and we remember. We keep our own counsel but in this case there are things you must know.

“In the beginning, the Ainur sang the great theme of Eru Iluvatar to bring this world into being. But Melkor, known to us as Morgoth, marred the celestial harmony with his discord, which shall not be set perfectly right until the Remaking of the World. Until then, the Valar strive to preserve and protect the harmony, while the servants of Morgoth continue to bring evil and chaos to the world.

“Second in power to the Valar are the Maiar. Some Maiar have taken the form of wizards, to protect and guide the fate of the world. But there are other Maiar who allied themselves with Morgoth, and chief among them was Sauron. Devious and powerful, Sauron was a shape-shifter who could appear as a beautiful human, a wolf, and even a serpent.

“At Morgoth's bidding, Sauron took the form of a serpent. This serpent-Maia then mated with a reptile, procreating the first Dragon, Glaurung. There have been many Dragons since and although they may differ in some respects, they all share the common heritage of reptile and Maiar.”

Dwalin broke in. “Yeah. Fascinating, but why tell me? I'm a Peacekeeper. If you want me to catch a thief or settle a dispute between neighbors, I'm your dwarf. But gods and wizards and dragons are a little above my weight class, if you know what I mean.”

Nori had to agree with Dwalin there – why tell a simple dwarf the story of the Beginnings of Arda? It wasn't like anybody could do anything now about events that happened so long ago.

The beautiful elf rolled his eyes. “Silence! Be patient, and listen.” He drew a breath and continued. “Dragons are not beasts, but creatures of great power and cunning. Their vast intelligence gives them the ability to lead armies into battle, understand many tongues, and persuade with clever speech. Their scaly hide can resist almost all weapons, their claws are spears, and some can breathe fire. Dragons can cast spells and curses, and hypnotize their prey with but a glance of their lambent eyes. Indeed, only the cleverest of riddlers can hope to deceive a dragon!

“What's more, you dwarves are the natural enemies – and prey – of dragons. Your people have a great love of gold and jewels, mining in the deep places of the earth and then fashioning your hard-earned prizes into treasure of great worth. Dragons are greedy for gold, and it is their habit to steal the treasure you accumulate.”

The elf stopped to take a sip of wine, watching Dwalin and Nori over the rim of the goblet all the while. Dwalin was frowning, like he was trying to remember something he'd memorized years ago but had never been very interested in in the first place.

Thranduil continued, “We elves are not unaware of the dwarves' prowess in fighting dragons. During the First Age, in Nirnaeth Arnoediad, called in the common tongue the War of Unnumbered Tears, the eastern host of the army of elves and men would have been utterly destroyed if not for the Dwarves of Belegost.

“Dwarves, of course, are naturally able to withstand dragon fire better than Elves or Men,” Thranduil continued, acknowledging them with a slight bow of his head. “And your iron battle armor protected you still more. Thus did your ancestors hold off the dragon Glaurung long enough for the remaining Elves and Men to escape with their lives.”

Dwalin puffed out his chest. “We dwarves know our own history.”

“All of us do.” Nori interrupted, equally tired of hearing an elf telling stories from dwarven history. “It was Azaghâl, King of the Broadbeam Dwarves of Belegost in the Blue Mountains, who fought the dragon Glaurung.”

Nori could feel Dwalin's curious gaze. He probably was wondering how a thief had learned an irrelevant subject like the history of the first age dwarves. As a noble's son, Dwalin would have been carefully educated, but like most nobles he probably believed that the dwarves of the Poor Quarter had no interest in anything beyond their own survival.

Nori took up the tale. “Azaghâl and his troops surrounded the dragon. Their dwarven axes were so strong and keen that they hewed into the armored hide, wounding the dragon sorely. In a great rage, Glaurung knocked Azaghâl down. The King was nearly crushed beneath the dragon's great weight, but with his last strength Azaghâl ran a dagger up and into Glaurung's soft, unprotected underbelly. The dragon fled in pain, and with him fled all the beasts of Morgoth.”

Nori couldn't resist giving Dwalin a smug look. “Then, in a solemn ceremony, the Dwarves raised up their fallen leader and with slow steps they carried him off the battlefield singing a dirge in deep voices. None dared trouble them, and so they marched his corpse home.”

Dwalin nodded respectfully at Nori. The recognition warmed Nori's heart enough to prompt a small confession.

“I never knew why that was,” Nori commented. “No one could ever tell me why none of the other armies attacked.”

“The singing,” Dwalin explained. “The songs of the dwarves have a special power. When sung by a whole army, like that dirge was, the music creates a wall of sound as solid as a wall of rock.”

Thranduil said, “Yes, the music of the dwarves. It is different than that of the elves. At any rate, the sacrifice of the dwarves allowed all seven of the Sons of Fëanor to escape, though their elven host was routed and scattered throughout Ossiriand.”

The elf-king waved his goblet of wine at Dwalin. “And it is because of the bravery of that long-dead dwarf king that I tell you this now – your King is courting disaster with every gold coin, every vessel, and every ornament. There are still dragons in this world, and as surely as the sun rises, the gold that is amassed here will lure a dragon to you.

“Tell him – do not hoard gold, do not hold it tight in your fists. Let it go. Give it freely to those in need, share it and keep it moving from hand to hand,. Dwarves know music, you say – well, then treat your gold like music. As long as the gold is flowing freely, you will be safe.

“But if you allow it to pile up, if you jealously keep it in the hands of a few, then you will bring a dragon upon you.

“Now go, and share my message with King Thror. Say not that it comes from me, for he would not seek counsel of the elves. I have spoken of this before, and he would not listen.”

“I'll do my best,” Dwalin said. “But why are you doing this anyway? Why the warning?”

“Isn't that obvious? If Erebor falls, then my land will be next,” Thranduil responded bluntly. “Just find a way to take my message to the king – you must stop this madness now. And know this: A dragon must be killed out in the open. Once it is inside the mountain, the battle is lost. The dragon will gain strength from the treasure-hoard and my armies will not be able to prevail against it.”

The beautiful elf turned back to his wine-goblet. “Go now, and see if you can succeed where I have failed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For these “folk tales” I relied on Tolkien's Valaquenta, the Tolkien Gateway and the Lord of the Rings Wiki.
> 
> I got the idea about dragons being part-Maiar from this excellent blog article:  
> http://cogitemusaccurate.blogspot.com/2013/02/concerning-origin-of-dragons.html
> 
> Also, here's a TED talk about the devastating consequences of poverty and income inequality in our own world:  
> https://www.ted.com/talks/gary_haugen_the_hidden_reason_for_poverty_the_world_needs_to_address_now


	3. Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin finds out why Nori seems to be working for the elves. And he decides what to do next about sharing Thranduil's message with the King Under the Mountain.

They had clearly been dismissed from Thranduil's presence, but Nori stubbornly refused to move. “Aren't you forgetting something?”

King Thranduil, reclining on his lily-pad platform, lifted one hand in a negligent wave. The guard-elves stepped over to one of the low couches that were scattered around the room and heaved up a small, limp body.

Dwalin felt a chill run up his spine. A dwarfling.

Nori rushed over to the dwarfling's side, yanking the smaller form out of the elves' hands. “Back off,” the thief snarled.

The elf-king raised one sardonic eyebrow in Nori's direction before turning his attention to Dwalin. “You are of the Line of Durin. It is up to you to make sure that King Thror understands what is at stake. If you do not, the consequences will be entirely on your head.”

“What did you do to that dwarfling?” Dwalin demanded.

The elf waved his goblet of wine in a dismissive gesture. “We have done nothing to harm the young one. The Taran tells me that athelas was administered to ease breathing, and something was given to promote sleep while the patient was kept here for observation.”

Dwalin helped Nori carry the drugged dwarfling out of the Seven Hells. To make himself feel better, he snarled viciously at any elf who so much as looked in their direction. The dwarfling was small, barely out of infancy – what had the elves done? The ways of elves were mysterious and possibly dangerous.

Questions were building up behind his lips, but Nori's grim expression kept him from asking them as they made their way to a shabby apartment in the Poor Quarter. Nori knocked on a plain, narrow door with a well-swept stoop and it was opened by a mithril-haired dwarrowdam with an anxious expression on her classically beautiful face.

“Oh!” Her soft cry was anguished, and she cast a quick glance up and down the street as she hustled them into the small parlor and directed them to lay the dwarfling on a small sofa tucked into a corner. A weaver's loom about the size of a one-goat war-chariot took up most of the space and proclaimed her profession. “Oh, no! What did the elves do? Why is Ori asleep like that?”

“I don't know, Dori,” Nori said, unusually humble. “But Ori's not coughing now.”

They were a family, Dwalin realized. It was clear from the way Dori bossed the red-haired thief, the meek way Nori seemed to accept it, and the concern they both showed for the little one.

The lovely dwarrowdam glared at Nori before snatching the dwarfling away. There were tears in her eyes as she stroked the downy little cheek. “But is Ori cured for good? And how are we going to make Ori wake up?”

“Get a dwarven doctor,” Dwalin blurted just as Nori said helplessly, “I don't know.”

Her silvery-gray eyes snapped as she turned to yell at Dwalin. “Oh, right! Get a doctor! Do you think we're made of gold?” She switched her glare to Nori. “Who is this half-wit?”

“Never mind,” Dwalin muttered. He stalked to the door of the small apartment, barely listening as Nori argued with the beautiful Dori, and pulled it open. There was a half-grown dwarfling mooching around in the street outside, kicking a ball against a wall.

Dwalin called the youngster over and fished a coin out of his pocket. Quietly he said, “Go find the physician Oin on Cairngorm Street and tell him Dwalin wants him to come here right away.”

The dwarfling's eyes opened wide, snatched up the coin and said smartly, “Yessir!” After a quick glance at the shabby apartments, the dwarfling took off.

Dwalin retreated into the weaver's house, wondering if he'd overpaid his messenger. But surely a copper coin wasn't that out of the ordinary. He shook his head and went back to the parlor, where Nori and Dori were bending over the small form on the sofa, talking about tea.

Dori got to her feet and planted herself in front of Dwalin, her knuckles on her hips. “Just who do you think you are?”

“Someone who got you involved in this mess, apparently,” Dwalin rumbled.

Nori whipped in between them, facing Dori. “It wasn't his fault.”

“No, I'm sure it was yours,” the dam said with a toss of her head. “It always is.”

Nori shrank a little. “We couldn't pay for a dwarven doctor, and the elves agreed—”

“Look, it's all right,” Dwalin said uncomfortably. “Oin's my cousin. It won't be a problem.”

Dori's gray eyes flashed. “Yes, it  _is_ a problem. We can't afford a la-di-da physician, and we don't accept charity.”

A knock sounded at the door, saving Dwalin from the need to find something to say. Relieved, he answered it. The physician bustled in, his ear-trumpet raised to one ear and sharp eyes taking in everything.

“Ah! So this is the patient.” Oin brushed past Dori, ignoring her expostulations, and knelt at Ori's side. He sniffed, and looked up at Dwalin. “Kingsfoil?”

Dwalin shrugged. “Elves. Something about breathing. And a sleeping-draught, too.”

“Ah. The sleeping-draught I can lift. I've heard tell of the wonders of elvish medicine, but they are too damned top-lofty to share their secrets with a dwarf,” Oin growled as he dug into his black bag and came up with a packet of dried herbs. He held it out to Dori. “Madam, make an infusion of this herb and bring it to me in a bowl. With a silver spoon, if you have one.”

Dori hesitated, and Oin waved a hand. “Never mind about the spoon. If you don't have one I've got one in here somewhere.” He began digging in his bag again as Dori and Nori went out, probably to where the kitchen was.

Once they were gone, Oin frowned up at Dwalin. “What are ye doing, laddie?”

“It's my fault, Oin. The elves wanted to talk to me, so they only agreed to cure the dwarfling if the family found me and delivered me to the Seven Hells," Dwalin explained.  "Just give the dwarrowdam some story or other. I'll pay you later.”

Oin grunted. The physician was a kindly soul. He'd do what he could, and Dwalin would pay whatever the cost might be.

Dwalin looked down at the pale, freckled, nearly beardless face framed by soft brown hair braided with lavender ribbons. “Can you do anything?”

“About the sleeping-draught, certainly,” Oin said as Dori and Nori returned with a steaming bowl on a tray. Beside the bowl was a very ornate silver spoon. “Ah, very good. Silver's always best because it doesn't react with the medicine.”

“It is a family heirloom,” Dori said with dignity.

Dwalin stood back as the three bent over the limp body of the young dwarf. Oin gave directions and held little Ori's wrist as Dori spooned the tea into the dwarfling's mouth. Nori watched with focused intensity, as if the red-haired dwarf were silently willing the younger one back to health and life, while unconsciously massaging one hand with the other.

“What's wrong with your hand?” Dwalin asked abruptly.

“Nothing,” Nori said quickly, letting both hands drop. “Just a little sore.”

“Let's see it,” Dwalin demanded.

With some reluctance, Nori sat beside him and held out the hand. Dwalin looked it over, watching Nori's slight pained wince as he flexed and manipulated it. Finally he said, “Nothing a little massage can't fix. Do you want me to do that?”

“All right,” Nori said, looking a little surprised.

Dwalin set to work, pressing and rubbing the soft hollows of the smaller dwarf's palm, feeling the tension loosen as he continued the massage. Nori's hands were small and long-fingered, with delicate skin unblemished by hard labor. But the pads were a little rough and a blister had raised along the side of one thumb – some recent work had caused the soreness. Dwalin realized that Nori had probably built the dry-laid stone wall across the alley to get Dwalin's attention. Perhaps a thief in the Poor Quarter couldn't really approach a Peacekeeper any other way, and contacting Dwalin had been the service that the elves had required in return for their medical help, from a dwarf who couldn't pay any other way.

“My hands used to be sore after every weapons practice,” Dwalin commented. “Took years to stop hurting. When I learned how to do this, it was like breaking through that last bit of stone at the end of a tunnel and coming out into the open air.”

“Mmm,” Nori hummed, eyelids drooping a bit over unfocused hazel eyes. Dwalin smiled.

It didn't seem so bad that Nori had tricked him, now that he knew why. Dwarven doctors were always paid in gold. Dwalin remembered how the little street dwarfling had been so eager just to earn a copper. He had spent over a month as a Peacekeeper in the Poor Quarter, but until this day he really hadn't realized that in Erebor, which had been built from nothing to become the richest and most powerful dwarf kingdom in Middle-earth, there could be dwarves who lacked even the most basic of necessities.

Dwalin gazed at Nori's profile. Would the pretty redhead have become a thief, if there had been some other way to earn a living? What sort of craft would Nori be good at? Maybe Dwalin could do something to help. He liked Nori. Well, maybe it was a little more than liking. Nori didn't have the voluptuous, heady beauty of Dori, but Dwalin had always preferred the more slender and elegant-looking dwarves, perhaps as a contrast to his own blocky, rough appearance. He let his gaze travel up the slim body, noting the long reddish eyelashes, the noble slice of nose, and the way the corner of that flexible mouth curled up in a tiny smile.

Suddenly Nori's eyes opened and looked right at him. Dwalin flicked his eyes away, burning with embarrassment. Mahal, he was such a fool. What kind of a dwarf was he anyway, to stare like that at a dwarf he barely knew! Their families didn't even know one another, and yet here he'd taken the First Step of Courtship.

Dwalin dropped Nori's hand. “There. That should help.”

Nori gave Dwalin a quick thanks and hurried over to Ori's side. That was a good sign. Very good. It meant that Nori was going to pretend nothing had happened. Yes, he should concentrate on the little one's health. Ori was recovering and that was a good thing, and as long as Dwalin avoided taking any more Steps, all would be well.

The Second Step would be for Dwalin to stare again. If Nori met his gaze and held it, that would be an invitation for Dwalin to take the Third Step – a conversation in which one's gender and preference in sexual partners was casually mentioned. It was all done very delicately, so that either party could withdraw at any time while pretending that nothing had really happened. What was in a look, after all? And if Dwalin casually slipped into the conversation that he was male and was open to a relationship with a dwarf of any gender, where was the harm in that? All the other dwarf had to do was to ignore it, and that would be that.

“I think that should counter the effects of the sleeping-draught,” Oin announced. “Now, madam, continue to give more of the infusion twice a day if there's any more coughing.”

“Dori, why are you crying?” someone said in a soft, childish voice. “Oh, there you are, Nori – are you all right?”

“I don't know what you mean, Ori child of Kori,” Dori fussed. “Open your eyes, dear, and let me look at you.”

Dwalin watched the group huddled over the youngster. The little one must have done as Dori asked, because Nori leaned back with a sigh and, turning, directed a glowing smile at him. Dwalin blinked. Was Nori flirting? Oh, no, of course Nori was just happy the dwarfling was better. Not flirting – just normal gratitude. Dwalin's imagination had been running away with him. And at the worst time possible. That was always his problem, terrible timing. He nodded and looked down.

After a moment he looked up again to find Nori gazing at him steadily, a question in those bright hazel eyes. Dwalin's jaw almost dropped open in surprise, but he controlled the impulse. With all his might, he held Nori's gaze. Yes, he thought, willing his silent message to reach the other. _Yes._

Nori smiled again and turned away.

For a moment, Dwalin kept staring, his brain still caught in a loop of mingled astonishment and elation. He licked his lips. Yes. Nori had taken the Second Step. Nori had encouraged him. Conclusion: Nori must like him. Dwalin pulled himself together. Maybe his timing wasn't so awful after all.

Oin got to his feet with some difficulty, and nodded briskly in farewell. “More tea as I explained to you, Mistress Dori, and keep the patient quiet and warm for at least two days. Let me know if you encounter any difficulties. You know how to reach me.”

“Thank you doctor,” Dori said. “I am most grateful to you.” She smiled until she had shut the door behind Oin, and then turned on Dwalin with a fierce look. “But you...”

Oh, of course. Somehow it was his fault because he now knew that they couldn't afford a doctor. And he had had the bad taste to be a member of the House of Durin, and to have a cousin who was a doctor and willing to help out. Dwalin's good mood deflated.

He shook his head vigorously, raising one hand to ward off her accusations. “You shouldn't have to bear the cost, Mistress Dori. I will take care of it.”

Dori drew her head back in surprise. “What, the doctor? No, I don't have a problem with that – but I won't have you making eyes at Nori!”

“He wasn't!” Nori objected.

Dwalin could feel the heat creeping up his neck again. “I –”

“He needs me to carry out the rest of the task that King Thranduil gave to him,” Nori explained. “I'm going to help him.”

“Oh you are?” Dori scoffed. “How?”

Dwalin stared at Nori. “After all this? You can't want your family any more involved in this than they already are.”

“But we are still involved,” Nori said. “Besides, I agree with the elves – King Thror needs to be reminded that there are dwarves in need, and that it's his duty to help us. I'm going to make sure you succeed. Which means I'm sticking with you, Peacekeeper. So what's next?”

Dwalin hadn't really thought about what he was going to do next. He needed help from a friend. A powerful, trustworthy friend who could make things happen. Someone he'd known all his life, who would be on his side.

Luckily, he knew just the dwarf.

“I'm going to talk to Thorin,” he said.


	4. Do I Know You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your grandfather could do it, Thorin,” Dwalin urged. “If King Thror led the way, then all the nobles would follow suit. Things have got to change. Dwarves shouldn't go hungry, not right here in Erebor.”

Prince Thorin stormed into his chambers cursing loudly in khuzdul. He shrugged out of his fur-trimmed Royal Robes, letting the costly fabric fall on the stone floor instead of waiting for his valet to take it from him.

“Bad day in the throne room?” Dwalin asked mildly. He and Dori were seated on a low divan, waiting for the Prince to come back from the throne room. The beautiful dam had covered her head with a handwoven scarf in a rainbow pattern, and little Ori was cradled against her sturdy body in a sling of purple wool adorned with a black and gold edging in a geometric design. The dwarfling had stopped coughing.

The valet made an exasperated noise, tenderly picked up the discarded robe, and carried it to the wardrobe room. If Dwalin hadn't been wondering where Nori was, he wouldn't have noticed the shadowy figure slip into the chamber as the valet left.

Thorin threw himself onto a chair. He scrubbed at his face with both broad hands and began talking to Dwalin as if there were no one else in the room.

“You wouldn't believe today's disaster. We had envoys from all seven kingdoms in the throne room – making all the usual complaints and accusations – when that damned Skafith stood up on his hind legs and said, 'All dwarves should swear an oath of allegiance to his most noble majesty King Thror.' ”

“What a brown-noser,” Dwalin said. “I got some disturbing news today. It's about—”

“Then he said, 'The Arkenstone is the heirloom of our kingdom, and a symbol that the House of Durin is first among all the dwarf families.' I thought the Firebeard ambassador was going to have a fit of apoplexy,” Thorin continued. “Of course grandfather was impressed. But none of the others want to have their loyalty doubted.”

“Sounds like trouble. But what is far more disturbing—”

“Then Skafith said, Yes, all the Dwarf Lords shall swear to obey the one who wields the King's Jewel. Let them take an oath of loyalty to the King who bears the Arkenstone! And they all did. But all are furious because Skafith takes every chance he can get to remind my Grandfather that the Arkenstone came from his mines, so _he_ deserves special favor from the King. Balin is making the rounds now, smoothing out all the ruffled feathers.”

Dwalin raised his voice to a parade-ground roar. “Thorin, listen to me! The vast hoard of gold in the Royal Treasury will be the doom of Erebor if the King doesn't do something about it!”

“The gold? What are you talking about?” Thorin looked puzzled.

Dwalin told the Prince the whole story, omitting only that the information had come from Thranduil. “So basically, the problem is that some dwarves are too rich and some are too poor,” he finished. “Our society has to be more balanced – we need to find a way to share the gold, so everyone has enough to meet their needs. Then there won't be a pile of gold big enough to tempt a dragon.”

Thorin sighed. “It just figures that scheming dwarf-lords isn't enough trouble for one day. Now you tell me that if we don't stop the wealth of Erebor from accumulating in the hands of a few, we'll have a dragon infestation to deal with.” He picked up his harp and began strumming idly.

“Perhaps there would be a way of convincing the wealthiest dwarves to voluntarily raise the wages they pay their workers.” Dori offered, sitting with her back straight, her hands on her knees and her ankles crossed demurely.

Thorin shook his head. “The dwarf lords are bound to say that higher labor costs will cut into profits.”

As Thorin spoke to Dori, Dwalin sensed movement in the room. He knew without turning to look that it was Nori drifting out of the shadowy corner of the room to appear almost by magic at Dori's side.

Dwalin couldn't help smiling. The redhead was outrageous, but carried it off with a lot of style. Nori's hazel gaze flicked in his direction and the thief responded to Dwalin's smile with a little wink.

“There would still be plenty of profits if those wealthy dwarves didn't keep so much for themselves.” The thief idly stole a pastry and took a dainty bite. “I know for a fact that Skafith of the Erebor Mining Company has four sets of golden beard-brushes. Why does he need four? He's only got one beard.”

“Five,” Dori corrected. “When I knew him he had five sets of golden beard-brushes.”

“Not since last Fool's Day,” Nori said, licking pastry crumbs off long, delicate fingers. Dwalin watched the pink tongue dart in and out. “Bet he hasn't even missed them.”

“Nori!”

“Well, you never liked Skafith anyway, Dori. When he said he wanted you, you broke his arm,” Nori reminded her.

“That's no excuse for stealing,” Dori huffed.

“It might be,” Dwalin said. “Skafith is everything that's wrong with Erebor these days.”

Dwalin didn't approve of stealing, but he hated Skafith. The dwarf-lord in charge of the great mines of Erebor was a cruel and harsh master. The miners under Skafith's control were poor and underpaid and forced to buy goods at extravagant prices from Skafith's own company stores. Worse, the fellow's shameless toadying had given him the ear of King Thror.

“He's the enemy of all free dwarves,” Dori declared. “It's disgusting, him having gold enough to buy all the best things when his own miners are starving, drowning in debt just to buy the food they need for their families. I see it every day down in the Poor Quarter.”

Prince Thorin smiled wryly and plucked out a melody on the harp-strings. “I agree with you. But I don't know how we could get the nobles to do what you're asking.”

“Your grandfather could do it, Thorin,” Dwalin urged. “If King Thror led the way, then all the nobles would follow suit. Things have got to change. Dwarves shouldn't go hungry, not right here in Erebor.”

“You're right. Let me think how to convince Grandfather.” Thorin began to play. The music made Dwalin relax, the way it always did. They'd think of something. Everything would be all right. He looked around. Dori looked happier already, and little Ori was still sleeping.

Prince Thorin's dark head bent over the golden harp in his hand, his pale profile standing out like alabaster against the midnight of his hair. Those big, square hands plucked delicately at the strings, caressing them into yielding their sweetest sounds.

Dwalin's gaze fell on Nori, who was gazing slack-jawed and dazzle-eyed at the Prince, mesmerized by Thorin's exquisite skill.

An unexpected stab of jealousy pierced him. Everyone looked at Thorin that way. Of course they did. He was a Prince, he was a brilliant musician. He was honorable, strong, handsome, and the most caring friend any dwarf could have. They had grown up together, cousins who were close as brothers. Dwalin loved Thorin and he barely knew Nori. There was no reason for jealousy. Just because he had traded brief glances with an intriguing thief – but he struggled to believe his own words. The problem was that he liked Nori, and had already begun to hope the thief liked him back.

Dwalin said loudly, “So, do you have any ideas, Nori?”

Nori blinked as if waking from sleep.

“Dwalin, you should play your violin,” Thorin said with a laugh. Of course, the Prince noticed everything. He probably already knew what Dwalin felt – even before Dwalin understood it himself.

Nori's interested gaze shifted to Dwalin. “The violin?”

Dwalin's face burned. “It's nothing,” he muttered. He shouldn't feel so flattered by the way Nori had turned so quickly to him, looking so surprised and eager to hear him play.

“It's not nothing. Your playing is a wonder to listen to, old friend,” Thorin replied.

“Let's get back to the important issue.” Dori tapped one finger against her lips thoughtfully. “The Festival of Durin is almost upon us. Won't Skafith give his annual Fools Banquet again tomorrow night?”

“Ugh, yes, the usual masquerade,” Thorin groaned. “My grandfather loves it.”

Dori continued, “And isn't it traditional at the Banquet for all the guests to dress as the opposite of who they are? Then King Thror chooses the most unlikely person to be Ruler for a Night. The guests then have to do whatever the Ruler says – usually play silly games and so on.”

Thorin nodded, stroking his beard as he listened.

“Then maybe we could see to it that King Thror is enjoying the party and is in a relaxed and permissive mood, and then one of us could get themselves named as the Ruler for the Night,” Dori persisted. “Then our Ruler would announce a plan to raise the wages of the poor and cancel all their debts. Everyone would think it was a game.”

Unusual though the plan was, Dwalin thought it might work. He added, “Once the idea of sharing the wealth was planted in everyone's minds, it would be easier to convince the King that it should be permanent. Right? Strike while the iron was hot, so to speak.”

“Dori, that's deliciously underhanded of you,” Nori said admiringly. “Would you like to play Ruler for a Night?”

“How dare you,” Dori bristled, puffed up with indignation at the suggestion. She reached out to lay a gentle hand on the sleeping dwarfling beside her. “No, I would not. First of all, someone needs to look after Ori. Second, Skafith would recognize me and that would not be good. And third, you know perfectly well my nerves wouldn't stand the strain.”

“All true. Then, I nominate myself to play the part.” Nori said confidently.

Dwalin snorted. “You think you can go as a thief, and they'll name you Ruler for the Night?”

If there was one kind of person that the nobles of Erebor would not take kindly to, it was a thief. Dwarves were possessive and held on to the things that were theirs. Anyone who even pretended to be a thief would not win the affection of the other party guests.

“No,” said Nori haughtily. “I think because I can go as a dwarrowdam, they'll name me Queen for the Night.”

Dwalin's jaw dropped as he stared at Nori. “You?”

The slender redhead gave him a cool look, then moved slightly. The change in posture wasn't much, but all at once the straight dwarven lines of the thief's body softened and took on a curving outline. Nori's eyelids drooped, and those pink lips tilted up at the corners in a sultry invitation.

“Oh,” Dwalin said. He cleared his throat. Everything about Nori was disturbing.

“That is a very good idea,” Thorin said thoughtfully. He looked at Dwalin. “And I can think of just the disguise for you, too, my violin-playing friend.”

Dwalin shook his head. “Oh, no. I see where you're going with this.”

“We could dress Dwalin as a court musician,” Thorin explained to Dori.

“No,” Dwalin said firmly.

Dori looked him up and down. “Absolutely. I think he'd make a very good court musician.”

“That's settled then,” Thorin said. “You all will come here at the seventh hour tomorrow, and we will make our plans.”

“As Queen for the Night, I'll raise the miner's pay by tenfold and erase all household debts,” Nori said gleefully. “I can even explain about making wealth flow – if everyone has enough, then they can buy more. The entire Mountain will benefit. We can set to work making it a real thing.”

Dori shook her head. “But you'd have to get too close to Skafith to do all this. That scum is dangerous, Nori.”

“I can take care of myself.” Nori defended. “I want to do this. And I really want to see Dwalin in motley.”

-

 

Dwalin grumbled more than usual as he began his rounds the next day. But patrolling soon took up his whole attention, though, because the entire populace was in a festive excited mood in anticipation of the holiday. It wasn't until much later that he remembered what he was going to be doing that evening.

His feet dragged as he returned to the palace to get ready for the Fool's Banquet at Skafith's palace.

Thorin greeted him with a grin, then called over his shoulder, “Here he is.”

Face set in the grimmest expression he could muster, Dwalin stalked into Thorin's chamber.

On the sofa in the main room sat an unknown lady. Kohl darkened her eyelids and a gauzy veil skimmed over the lower half of her face, softening but not concealing her features. Her beard was braided and jeweled, and her beautiful red hair was piled high on her head, except for a few curls that tumbled down to her white shoulders, revealed by her gown's low neckline. Her long neck covered by a broad choker necklace made of gold mesh studded with sparkling citrines. She wore a court gown of amber velvet, caught at the waist with a thick belt of gold links, and draped with spangled scarves in the warm, exotic colors of eastern spices, gold and rust and cinnabar.

Rooted to the spot, he stared at her, astonished and halfway in love.

She raised beautifully plucked and delicately curved eyebrows. Her voice was sweet and deep, like the honeyed tones of a rosewood flute. “ Am I so different, just because I'm wearing a dress?”

Nori. The realization hit him like a thunderclap. This was Nori. But now the sharp edges were tucked away and all he could see was the gorgeous hair, the sparkling eyes, the tempting mouth. With an effort, he reminded himself that Nori was. Not. Safe.

“No,” Dwalin muttered. “No, but I cannot … I do not know how to think about you.”

“Don't think, you'll ruin the whole plan.” Nori stood up, and he – she – whoever – moved with sinuous and alluring grace into the smaller dressing room. “But you should address me as Lady Nori from now on. I think I'll enjoy being a dam tonight. Now, come here and we'll see what we can do about you.”

In the dressing room, Dwalin was sorry to see that Prince Thorin's valet had managed to find a set of the bright-colored motley clothes that court minstrels wore, sized to fit his muscular physique. His violin was set neatly beside the garish outfit.

Dwalin groaned. “Do I have to?”

Nori leaned against the doorway and gave a soft coo. “Oh, yes! I'd love to see you in that.”

Bright hazel eyes inspected him, full of naughty interest.

“Well, I'm not undressing in front of you,” Dwalin snarled, feeling the heat of a blush creeping up his neck.

“Let Dori help you dress,” Nori said, unabashed.

“Stop making trouble, you.” The silver-haired dwarrowdam elbowed Nori back into the main room.

With Nori gone, Dori ruthlessly stripped off Dwalin's comfortable olive-drab uniform and bundled him into the minstrel's attire. Dori hummed a little as she expertly put the finishing touches on the sleeves and took in a bit of extra fabric around the waist, properly fitting the clothing to Dwalin's broad shoulders and muscular hips.

Finally, Dori pronounced his wardrobe complete. “Now go out and show them,” she ordered.

Two heads lifted to observe Dwalin as he stepped sheepishly into the room – Nori, gorgeous in amber and gold, and Prince Thorin, wearing a blacksmith's simple white linen shirt over black leather pants. His shirt was open at the neck at his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. Over it, he wore a heavy leather apron with tool pockets along the front.

Nori looked at Dwalin and clapped her hands together. “Oh, yes! Marvelous! You look positively merry!”

“I protest,” Dwalin growled. His tunic – with its wide horizontal stripes of red and green – was scandalously short, barely brushing the tops of his thighs. Instead of trousers, he wore the traditional tight leggings of bright yellow. Thankfully, they had allowed him to keep his boots. The pointed-toed slippers with bells were too small. “I am not a merry dwarf.”

Thorin made a big show of stroking his beard, but he was definitely hiding a laugh.

Dori bustled out from behind him. “Never mind. Remember that you are not doing this for your own entertainment. You have a job to do.”

“I'm a great lady tonight, so he can be doing it for my entertainment,” Nori said with a smirk. “Play me a song. Let's see how you'll do.”

Dwalin curled his lip at her in a magnificent sneer. “No.”

“Don't tease him,” Dori said with a sympathetic glance at Dwalin. “And don't forget how important this night will be. The future of Erebor depends on how well you play your roles at the Banquet.”


	5. Among Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the Fool's Banquet, the evil plot is revealed.

Torchlight illuminated the massive bronze doors to Skafith's palace and glimmered on a giant archway built to give guests the illusion that they were entering the crystal-encrusted interior of a geode.

Nori drew in a sharp breath at the dazzling sight. Despite her gorgeous gown and carefully applied make-up, her hand tightened nervously on Dwalin's arm as they walked in. It was always like this at the beginning of a con.

“Well,” she said lightly. “Someone's spent a lot of money to make it look like they've spared no expense.”

“That's Skafith for you,” muttered Dwalin, stomping along beside her in his colorful motley, his violin slung in a case across his back. He looked surprisingly good in the tight minstrel's clothes, which served to emphasize his perfectly muscled body.

A crowd of guests stood in front of them waiting to be announced, so they fell in line. Nori glanced up at Dwalin's scowling face. It amused her that he wasn't preening and strutting like so many dwarrows would do in a revealing outfit, but his obvious discomfort was not helping her nerves any.

Impulsively, she stood on tiptoe to speak into his ear. “Listen. Even though I don't always show it, I am a dwarrowdam and I prefer dwarrows. So believe me when tell you that you look great tonight. All right?”

Dwalin looked slightly startled at that, but the irritation faded from his face. He nodded slowly. “Aye. I'm a dwarrow and my preference is based on the dwarf, not their gender.”

She was a bit thrown by his statement, both by the slightly formal way he spoke and because she hadn't expected him to say anything about his own preferences. She nodded. “Uh, right. That's good to know.”

The butler took their names and announced them. “Lord Dwalin Fundinson of the House of Durin; Lady Njorun of the House of Nott.” It wasn't likely that anyone was listening that carefully to the announcements, but there were a number of good reasons not to use her own name.

Behind them came Balin and Thorin. Dori had stayed behind, arguing that Skafith hadn't forgiven her for breaking his arm. The lovely dwarrowdam had tucked Ori into bed in the royal nursery and settled down with a good book.

Balin looked dignified despite his ink-stained outfit hung with quills and stoppered inkwells, like one of the freelance scribes who wrote letters and contracts for merchants in the Poor Quarter. Prince Thorin's costume caused a stir, probably because of the few small curls of dark chest hair visible at the open neck of the linen blacksmith's shirt and the muscular forearms displayed by the rolled-up sleeves. Nori also heard some admiring comments about his black leather pants.

Nori looked from Dwalin to Thorin and back. The Prince was a handsome dwarf in his royal robes, but as a blacksmith he was devastatingly attractive. Every flick of his gorgeous black hair, the gaze of his blue eyes, that burly dwarf body – if Dwalin were attracted to all kinds of dwarves, what would be more natural than for the two of them to be together? She knew they had been friends all their lives.  
  
Not that it was any of her business. But she couldn't help sneaking another glance at Dwalin, even bigger and burlier than the prince, with a terrifying scowl and a fierce, bristling crest of hair that was as shaggy and animalistic as his unbraided beard. He moved with unexpected grace for a dwarf of his size, proof of his physical power. Not even the silly bright-colored outfit could hide his true nature, though the violin on his back reminded her that there was more to him than looks might suggest.

As they moved into the glittering dome that was the banquet hall, Nori felt Dwalin's hand resting lightly on the small of her back. It was a slight but distinctly possessive gesture, and Nori decided she liked the way his touch gave her a small thrill in the pit of her stomach. Yes, this was good. There was no way a noble like Dwalin would be attracted to a thief—the touch was probably just part of tonight's play-acting—but it still felt good. She glanced up at him, and was surprised to see him watching her face intently.

She gave him a jaunty grin. “Well, here we go. You ready?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Yes, I'm ready.”

Suddenly Nori didn't feel ready enough. But she shook off the uneasiness and winked at him. He was still looking at her with that curiously intent look. It couldn't mean what she thought it meant. They were too different. A peacekeeper and a law-breaker? No. She knew what he thought of her kind, and it wasn't good.

They took their seats at the banquet table. The dinner was delicious and Nori ate her fill. Piles of exotic foods, fresh and abundant, were everywhere – including some excellent cinnamon rolls that Ori would have gobbled up in the blink of an eye. She tucked a few rolls into a napkin and stowed them carefully away, hoping the little delicacies would still be edible when they made it back to the royal nursery.

“Ugh, there are so many nobodies at the banquet this year,” announced a bejeweled dwarrowdam on Nori's other side. “Skafith's guest list used to be more exclusive.”

Nori turned to her brightly. “Oh, but isn't that Prince Thorin over there? I could listen to him play the harp all day. Look, he's standing near the jeweled archway.” Nori pointed to a dark-haired dwarrow on the other side of the room.

“Um, maybe. Yes, I think you're right. I must go and speak to him,” the dwarrowdam said, moving her chair back.

“Let me brush these crumbs away, dear,” Nori said, flicking her napkin lightly over the dam's bodice and neck. “There you go. Have fun!”

The dwarrowdam bustled off, unaware that she had just lost some of her jewels. Nori palmed them quickly and tucked them in her hidden pocket.

Dwalin scowled at her. “I saw that.”

“What?” Nori said innocently.

He stuffed a biscuit into his mouth, and talked softly as he ate. “You're not here to steal. When Lady Julis comes back, you're going to return her diamond necklace.”

“Why should I?” Nori demanded. “Did you hear the way she insulted me? Serves her right. Lady Whatsit is too mean to have a pretty necklace.”

“You can't just steal things that are not yours,” Dwalin protested.

This attitude was exactly what Nori had expected from a lordly type like Dwalin – rich people always got the good stuff, and too bad for you. It's your own fault if you were born into the wrong family, that's what they thought. “Who cares? They're just things. Wealth is supposed to change hands, right? That's what the elf said.”

“That's not what he meant, and you know it,” Dwalin said. “We must act with honor, or what are we?”

“Still alive,” Nori retorted. “What good is honor, if you're dead of starvation? Following rules only works for dwarves who have enough. Me, I might not live to see another day, so I enjoy whatever I can get my hands on right now.”

“That,” growled Dwalin, poking one large index finger at her, “Is why we're here tonight. Because we're changing that. All dwarves should have enough. We're going to make it so.”

Nori rolled her eyes. “You're dreaming.”

“And you are giving that necklace back,” Dwalin said firmly. “My lady.”

She wasn't a lady and he knew it. Why had she ever thought he was attracted to her? They had nothing in common. Nori picked at the crumbs of her dinner gloomily.

A few minutes later, the snobby dwarrowdam returned to her seat beside Nori and heaved a sigh. “It wasn't Prince Thorin after all, just that boring Lord Hepti.”

“Too bad,” Nori said. She held out the diamond necklace. “You dropped this, dear. You should be more careful.”

The dwarrowdam felt her neck. “Oh! I was afraid that clasp was loose. Thanks.” Without another word, the dwarrowdam took back her necklace and turned away.

Dwalin nodded at Nori, satisfied.

Nori stuck out her tongue at him.

Balin motioned for them to join him in a quiet corner of the busy banquet hall. Dwalin and Nori made their way over, then Thorin in his blacksmith costume joined the group. Nori watched Dwalin carefully for any signs of romantic feelings for Thorin. They seemed close, but she couldn't tell.

Dwalin caught her eye and raised one eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Nori said. Not her business. Nobles and thieves don't mix.

“Now, listen,” Balin said. “Tonight King Thror is supposed to name the Ruler for a Day. Actually, Skafith will probably do that, since Thror – well.” Balin, the perfect diplomat, looked uncomfortable. He raised both hands helplessly and then let them fall to his sides.

Thorin explained, “Dwalin, because you were working as a Peacekeeper, you haven't seen the King for several months now. He's changed.”

Dwalin looked puzzled.

The prince went on, “You remember how much my grandfather used to love the Festival of Durin and especially the Fools' Banquet. Tonight he almost didn't come to the party, because he was too busy gloating over his gold.”

Balin sighed. “I fear for the King.”

“What do we do?” Nori asked.

“Dwalin, come greet the King,” Thorin said, taking Dwalin by the arm. “You'll see what I mean.”

Nori watched the two of them move away, arms linked and Dwalin's head tilted close to Thorin's as the Prince talked. They were well-matched. They had known each other all their lives. She was an outsider – and worse, a disreputable thief.

“And you, my dear,” Balin said quietly, bringing Nori's attention back where it belonged, “Let me tell you exactly how you can help.”

-

 

A short while later, Nori took a deep breath. She had been fully briefed; now it was up to her to carry out the first part of their plan.

“I can do this,” she said to Balin. Then, shaken by a sudden doubt, she shook her head. “Well, I'll give it my best shot.”

“Aye, that's the spirit,” he said.

Pasting a bright smile on her face, she swayed as seductively as she could up to the raised platform where their host, the dwarf named Skafith, stood. He looked like a miner – this was no slickly-groomed courtier, but a big rough dwarf, built along the lines of a boulder. Heavy shoulders and a big square belly rested on stubby legs. His face, with small eyes and a large nose, was buried under an enormous beard. A thick loose mane of graying brown hair flowed down over his back.

Although Skafith was the wealthiest dwarf in Erebor except for the King, he didn't look comfortable in his costly velvet robes. He wore no jewelry except for a single blood-red diamond on one sausage-like finger.

Still, those small dark eyes fixed on Nori with something like avarice. He had definitely noticed her approach with approval. He took Nori's outstretched hand. “Ah, now here's a dwarrowdam worth looking at. What's your name, little jewel?”

“Njorun,” she replied. “It's an old-fashioned name, but it's mine.”

“It suits you,” Skafith commented with heavy gallantry.

They bantered for a few moments. Skafith was admiring and Nori was coy. 

King Thror came up to Skafith, looking discontented. Nori curtsied, unnoticed by either dwarf.

“When will this be over?” demanded the King. His gaze shifted restlessly around the room, and his fingers plucked at the heavy folds of his royal robe. “Can't you handle all this foolishness by yourself, Skafith?”

Nori clapped her hands together and squealed, “Oh, but you can't leave, sire! You must crown the Ruler for the Night!”

Skafith looked annoyed, but nodded at her. “That's right, Your Majesty. I think you'd already decided who—”

Realizing exactly who Skafith was about to propose as Royal replacement, Nori flung herself desperately into King Thror's unwilling arms. “Choose me! Oh, how I would love to play at being the Queen Under the Mountain! And isn't the Ruler for the Night supposed to be the most unlikely person in the entire hall? Why, of course that's me. Please, sire, choose me!”

Nori looked deep into the eyes of King Thror, the King Under the Mountain – the dwarf who had led his people back to Erebor and, in less than a single dwarven life-span, had built it into the mightiest kingdom of Middle Earth. The blue eyes were cloudy and distant at first, seeing not her but something else. Then, as she watched, she saw awareness return as he focused on her.

“Let me do this. For the dwarves of Erebor,” she whispered. “For the honor of our people.”

King Thror blinked and straightened up. Gently he took Nori by the shoulders and moved her to one side.

“I have made up my mind,” the King proclaimed. “The Ruler of the Night shall be...”

Skafith stepped confidently forward.

King Thror's hand landed on Nori's shoulder. “This young dwarrowdam. All hail tonight's Queen Under the Mountain! You shall obey her tonight just as you would obey me.”

Polite applause greeted his announcement. Skafith's eyes blazed with fury. Growling, he reached out toward Nori, his big hands hooked like he was about to grab her by the throat.

Nori jumped up and down, clapping her hands. As she did, she bounced several steps away from Skafith and put King Thror between them. The King placed the Raven Crown on her head, fitting it crookedly over her elaborate hairdo. “Oh, goodness! I'm Queen … Njorun. Well, everybody, my first royal command shall be – everyone drink more wine!”

She giggled brainlessly, ignoring the sweat that trickled down her back. Njorun, she told herself. Remember your name is Njorun.

Skafith's anger subsided, and his red face returned to a more normal shade. He forced a smile. “Ha ha, very clever, my dear. But you really should be guided by me – being a queen is a big responsibility.”

“Oh, yes, indeed.” Out of the corner of her eye, Nori could see Dwalin, Thorin and Balin moving closer to the raised dais where she was standing with the King and Skafith. Dwalin was glaring at Skafith, looking furious enough to crush rocks with his bare hands. Thorin had quietly taken a fighting stance, one hand on his blacksmith's hammer.

Balin was smiling at her. He jerked his head a little to one side, in a gesture that clearly meant, “Go ahead. Do it.”

Nori drew in a deep breath and smiled at Skafith. Then she announced, “Fortune has smiled on you, Lord Skafith. I understand that you have struck the richest vein of gold ever to be found in Erebor, and your miners have produced enough gold to fill the Gallery of the Kings!”

She raised her glass, and everyone cheered.

“So my next decree as Queen Under the Mountain is to take all this gold and distribute it to all the miners in Erebor – let their wages be tripled, their debts be canceled, and their pantries be full of every good thing!”

The cheering was more subdued this time, and the clapping faded out into confusion as the rich guests stared at one another.

Skafith sent her a purely murderous look and stepped in front of her, nearly pushing her off the dais. “I apologize for our silly little Queen's untimely jest. Do not worry, my friends, we have a much better use for the gold I have mined.”

King Thror looked up, his wandering attention captured by the word “gold.” Skafith bowed low to the King. “Your Majesty, let us go to the Gallery of the Kings, where I will show you – and all these worthy dwarves here tonight – the gift I have planned for you.”

Skafith took Nori's arm in a hard grip and towed her along as he led the way to the Gallery of Kings. She could have broken free, but she wanted to know what Skafith was up to. She only had time to send a single glance toward Dwalin, warning him not to act too soon. As she was forced to march to the Gallery of the Kings, she tried to keep the Raven Crown from falling off her head.

Whatever she expected to see, what actually _was_ in the Gallery of the Kings wasn't it. 

At one end of the Gallery stood an object so huge it almost brushed the ceiling of the vast cavern. It was an enormous mold, in the shape of a dwarf. Though a mold's exterior isn't as sharply detailed as the inside, she could tell what it was. The outline of the Raven Crown could clearly be seen on the head of the figure and it wore beard-jewelry in a familiar zig-zag pattern – it was a statue of King Thror. A feeder pipe at the top of the whole thing showed where the molten gold would be channeled from the forges to the opening at the top of the mold.

“Behold,” announced Skafith. “With the tons of gold that I have mined from the heart of the mountain, I offer a truly magnificent gift. In this gallery we honor the Kings of the past in statues of marble and stone. But for our King Under the Mountain, no mere stone will do. From this day hence, King Thror will be immortalized in a statue of solid gold!”

This time, the applause was tumultuous. The cheers and cries filled the Gallery of the Kings and went on for minutes. Skafith raised his hand for silence.

“Gold,” he said reverently. “Gold, the beautiful, the incorruptible, the everlasting! With gold, I shall create a tribute to our King that will endure forever!”

“But that gold should be distributed to the poor!” shouted Thorin from the crowd. “The lives and well being of our people matter more than a statue of gold.”

“Gold,” muttered King Thror, staring up at the massive mold as if mesmerized.

Skafith continued, “In return for this mighty gift, King Thror has promised to grant me one favor. Just a tiny little favor. For just one night, he will permit me to wear the Ring that he bears on his finger.”

“WHAT??” Thorin's deep bellow was matched by Dwalin's outraged cry.

“You can't do that!” Balin yelled. “The Dwarven Ring can only be worn by the rightful king!”

But their shouts went unheard.

King Thror looked like a dwarf in a trance as his hand moved to remove the obsidian oval ring from his index finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way I imagine Ereborean society, a dwarf doesn't have to express a gender unless they want to. Since there are no occupations under the mountain where gender matters, some ordinarily don't, but sharing information about one's chosen gender and preference in sexual partners is part of dwarven courting behavior. Also, pronouns shift as the dwarf expresses a gender. So Nori gets female pronouns now.
> 
> Also, I always wanted to know how that big damn mold got into the Gallery of Kings in DOS. So I wrote an explanation.
> 
> And um, sorry about the cliffhanger. *hides*


	6. Unexpected Hobbies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evil dwarf Skafith attempts to overthrow King Thror. How can Dwalin, Nori, Balin, Thorin and the others loyal to the crown prevent this?

Dwalin stared in horror as King Thror, mesmerized by the promise of an immense golden statue of himself, began to remove the magical Dwarf Ring from his finger.

Thror's Ring was an ancient Ring of Power, one of the seven that had been borne by the Kings of the Seven Families for ages. According to Dwarven tradition, it had been given by Celebrimbor himself to Durin III, King of Khazad-dum in the Second Age. The Ring of Power amplified the wearer's natural skills of rulership and dominion and also brought vast wealth, multiplying all that was mined.

“Just let me hold it for a little while, your Majesty,” crooned Skafith. “What harm could there be?”

So this what all of Skafith's machinations had been all about – Skafith was not content to be the richest dwarf in an Erebor where wealth had been concentrated in the hands of a few. He wanted to be King, and that meant getting his hands on the ring of King Thror.

“Stop him,” shouted Balin.

Eyes burning with lust for the Ring of Power, Skafith leaned in greedily to watch the King as he struggled to work the jewel off his finger. He still held tight to Nori's arm. Dwalin shoved his way through the crowd toward the trio, but was blocked by a row of burly dwarves dressed in server's tabards.

With a sudden jerk, Nori twisted her arm free of Skafith's grasp. The evil dwarf turned to grab her again, clutching at the wispy folds of her golden gown. Nori fought him, twisting and dodging around. As they scuffled, she kicked King Thror in the shin.

King Thror blinked like a man waking from sleep. His fingers curled tightly around the Ring of Power. “No,” he muttered.

Skafith whirled on Nori, venting his anger on her. “You stupid dam, look what you've done.”

With a rip, she freed her gown and scrambled away.

Giving up on her, Skafith threw himself at King Thror, clawing at the King's wrists and trying to wrestle the ring off by brute force. “It was promised to me!” Skafith shouted.

Together they struggled, tottering back and forth. Skafith was younger and stronger, but King Thror fought to hold onto the Ring with a desperation born of necessity. The Ring of Power had become a part of him, its tainted glory spreading into the deepest reaches of his soul – he could not part with it, except to give it to another of the Line of Durin.

King Thror threw Skafith off, and Skafith stumbled back.

Face twisted in fury, Skafith unsheathed his ceremonial sword. It glinted in the light, newly sharpened by the looks of it. Then he looked up and shouted, “My dwarves! Fight for me. A thousand gold pieces a piece if our cause prevails! Skafith for Erebor!”

All around them, the burly dwarves who had posed as guards, footmen and servers tore off their lowly servant's tabards to reveal full battle armor. They unsheathed their weapons with a steely rasp. The guests gasped in shock. Some screamed.

“Traitor!” yelled Nori. “Skafith is a traitor to the crown!” She pulled out a slim dagger and held it low, looking for an opening to attack Skafith.

Dwalin roared as he reached for Grasper and Keeper – and realized that he didn't have them on, because he was wearing that ridiculous minstrel outfit. All he had was his violin strapped to his back.

For an instant, he froze. He looked around at the occupants of the room. Most of the guests were not armed. Some had nothing but the tools of the trade they'd adopted for the night – Balin with his quills and ink-pots, and Thorin with his blacksmith's hammer.

He drew in a breath through his nose and balled up his fists. He'd just have to punch someone until they dropped their sword, was all.

“Dwalin, remember Azaghal!” Nori shrieked over the noise of the crowd.

“What?” demanded Thorin, as he knocked out an armored dwarf with his blacksmith's hammer.

“No time for a history lesson,” Dwalin grunted, grabbing one of Skafith's fighters and slamming the fellow's head against his own rock-hard forehead. The fighter sagged at the knees, wobbled for a second, and then collapsed to the floor. Dwalin scooped up his dropped sword and spun around.

Balin, as usual, was the quickest on the uptake. “Music! She means music!”

“Grandfather! No!” Thorin's voice was anguished as he began to fight his way over to where Skafith was struggling with King Thror. The traitor had jumped on the King's back and had hooked one burly forearm around the royal neck. Both of Thror's hands scrabbled at Skafith's arm, putting the Dwarf Ring within reach of the traitor's grasping hands.

“Play something, Dwalin! Anything!” Nori had pulled the train of her golden dress between her legs and tucked it into the front of her gold belt so she could move more freely. One of Skafith's hench-dwarves lay groaning at her feet and another was feinting cautiously at her with his sword.

“Do it,” roared Thorin, from the other side of the fight.

The music of the dwarves has a special power – the vibrations of the deep, sonorous melodies resonate with the crystal heart of Arda, raising an energy that strengthens a dwarf's will and endurance. When lifted up by its power, dwarves can do the seemingly impossible.

Dwalin tucked his violin under his chin and began to play. It was one of the more familiar Ereborean tunes, a work-song from the early years when Thror had first brought his people to settle in Erebor some two hundred years before.

Prince Thorin began to sing along in his deep voice. More voices joined with Thorin's, and the deep, bell-toned chorus of the dwarven singing shook the floor beneath their feet. The song spoke of simple things: the hard and satisfying labor of building a home, of sacrifice in the present and hope for the future. It was tuned to the deep vibrations of the mountain's stone, the sense of belonging and of family. Warmth filled Dwalin's heart almost to bursting.

Skafith's fighters, cowed, fell back a few paces, afraid to strike the singers. Some of them even dropped their weapons and sobbed.

Dwalin drew out the final chord. The silence in the Hall of Kings was surprising after being so wrapped up in the music. People wiped their eyes and hugged one another. The armed dwarves stood with their heads bowed in shame, weapons limp in their hands.

He turned to see Nori holding Skafith prisoner, kneeling with his hands bound behind him with a strip torn from her dress, and her knife poised at his neck.

Thorin stepped up to his grandfather, King Thror, and put one hand on the King's shoulder. Thror turned toward Thorin with tears in his eyes, his hand curled tightly around the ring he'd almost given up. The Dwarven Ring of Power was still safe in the possession of the Line of Durin.

“Guards!” Thorin threw back his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Take Skafith into custody for treason.”

 

-

 

Thorin, Dwalin, Balin and Nori bowed low before King Thror, now sitting like an avenging judge on the King's Throne. Around them gathered all the nobles from the party, plus other revelers who had been celebrating Durin's Day in their own ways at their own parties. The morning light was streaming through the clerestory windows tucked high in the sides of the mountain.

Though many of the audience were somewhat the worse for the mead that had been flowing freely that night and some of the fanciest costumes were now torn and dirtied from the battle in the Gallery of the Kings, the faces of the assembled crowd were serious.

King Thror delivered his sentence. “Skafith, for your treason, you shall be banished from the Kingdom of Erebor on pain of death. All of your property shall be forfeit to the crown.”

Prince Thorin added, “And the new owners of Skafith's mines shall be the miners who work there. They will decide together how to run the operation for the benefit of all.”

His grandfather looked at him doubtfully.

“Grandfather, there are thousands of dwarves who work there, at all levels,” Thorin said quickly. “They all know how a mine is supposed to be run, because they've been running it this whole time – but now they'll have a personal stake in the profit. It's a much better arrangement.”

“So shall it be,” King Thror decided. “Skafith, you are banished on pain of death. Set the traitor outside the Gate, and let him never return.”

Skafith ran out of the city, cursing and swearing. Outside the gate, he briefly turned, and the blood-red diamond in his favorite ring glinted evilly as he lifted a hand to shake his fist at the dwarves on the battlements. Then he ran on, followed by the jeers of the dwarves.

Dwalin watched, frowning. “Does he look to you like a dwarf who is running in a particular direction?”

“Since he'll get killed if he stays, I'd say the direction was out,” Nori said. “Why?”

Dwalin shook his head.

 

-

Dwalin and Nori walked toward the little home in the Poor Quarter. The minstrel outfit was torn in a couple of places, but Dwalin's violin was safely back in its case, slung on his back. Nori's dress looked a bit worse for the wear – she still had the gauzy train tucked up into the front of her belt, so that it looked like she was wearing some loose Eastern trousers instead of a fancy gown. But there was a smile on her face, and a glint of satisfaction in her eyes as she swaggered down the street.

“So,” Dwalin said.

“Not bad for an evening's work,” Nori said. “Go to a fancy party, have a nice dinner, uncover a traitor and incite a small revolution.”

He grinned. “And you looked good doing it.”

“Thanks.” Nori flashed him a smile and waggled her eyebrows. “You look pretty good too.”

That was encouraging. Dwalin was pretty sure that Nori was encouraging him. There was that smile, that glint of knowing – but it wasn't a clear invitation, it could be just a little of the elation of victory that hadn't yet faded after the fight. But it was enough to risk the next step.

“So,” Dwalin repeated. “Want to come over to my place for coffee? I'm over on Malachite Street, not far from here.”

Nori tilted her head, eyebrows raised. She looked undecided.

“Or tea. Or ale. Or even the next Step,” he said recklessly.

“Step? What are you talking about?”

He shrugged. “You know. _The_ Steps.”

“Never heard of them.” Nori stopped in the middle of the street and stared up at him as passersby flowed briskly around them. Then the corners of her mouth curled up in a little smile. “But... coffee sounds good.”

Dwalin felt a whoosh of relief sweep over him.

Nori tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Lead on.”

There was an extra spring in Dwalin's step as he led Nori toward his apartment in the Malachite Heights.

 

-

The Withered Heath had earned its name. Far to the north, the desolate plain stretched across a long narrow valley in the Grey Mountains. Plants, shrivelled and brown, struggled to grow among rocks blackened as if by fire. The slopes of the surrounding mountainsides were pock-marked by huge ragged openings like hungry mouths. Once long ago the place had been called the Sky-roof, but not anymore. Now it was the abode of dragons.

Under the bleak and empty sky, a lone figure trudged toward the largest cave. A lazy curl of smoke drifted out of the dark opening. The cave was not unoccupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For purposes of this story, I'm assuming that, along with the Arkenstone, the Dwarven Ring of Power is a symbol in Erebor of the king's legitimate right to rule. But also, it's got its evil side and Skafith is aligned with evil -- as we can see from the fact that, once banished, he immediately flees toward the Withered Heath.
> 
> Rating on the story will change with the final chapter, so if that's not your thing, I hope you can see where the story is going from here!


	7. Something Old and Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be smut and fluff. 
> 
> (Het smut and fluff, to be precise. If that's not your thing, you can skip this section and go on to the non-smutty epilogue.)

“Nice place,” Nori said as she looked around Dwalin's apartment in Erebor's Malachite Heights. The place was very much like him – so plain and so practical that there was a particular beauty to it. Like his warrior's body – sleek, useful, and simply perfect.

She watched as Dwalin moved around the fireplace, turning the valve that routed heat to its iron cooktop and placing a kettle of water to heat up.

He was still wearing his colorful minstrel outfit. Whoever designed the costume in ages past had put a lot of thought into to showing off the dwarven physique – the short tunic rippled as Dwalin's broad chest flexed and stretched, and the tight leggings emphasized the lithe energy in his sculpted legs and butt every time he moved. It made her fingers twitch, wanting to get her hands on that gorgeous body.

Not that a noble dwarf with a body Mahal would have been proud to create would be interested in a grubby little thief. She plucked at one of her now torn and tarnished veils. Her golden ball gown had apparently not been designed for fighting in – it was very much the worse for wear. “Very nice. But I don't see any steps.”

Dwalin glanced over his shoulder at her. Mahal, he was blushing! Big tough warrior was actually blushing. “I was talking about the Steps of Courtship. Not a big deal. Just a little joke.”

“Steps of Courtship?” Nobles really were a different breed. “You mean you actually have rules about it?”

He stopped and stared at her. “You mean – oh, come on. How can you not know about the Steps?”

Nori gave him a flat look.

He ducked his head. “Yes, there are rules. You do one of the Steps, and if the other person is so inclined, they'll accept it and then you move to the next Step. That's all.”

Sweet Mahal, Nori had never heard such nonsense. “That's ridiculous. Do you really have to play Amad-may-I all the time?”

“It saves a lot of confusion.” Dwalin poured the hot water over the coffee grounds in the press, filling the air with the rich aroma. He was deliberately not looking at her. It figured. She wasn't up to his standards, she supposed – someone who didn't know all the delicate and subtle rituals. Just a dwarf who saw what she liked, and went after it. Too blunt and crude for him, even if he was a Peacekeeper.

They were both dwarves of Erebor, born and raised in the same mountain, but the gap between Nori's life and Dwalin's had never seemed wider.

Well, she was who she was. Nori could laugh at herself with the best of them, so she might as well just act naturally and deal with the fallout later.

“So tell me about the Steps of Courtship,” Nori said with a smile as Dwalin carried over two small cups of coffee and set them down between them. She leaned back, toying with the veil that hung from her sleeve. She would ask purely for informational purposes, kind of like studying the habits of elves. Even though it didn't apply to you, you never knew when some scrap of knowledge would come in handy.

“You really never heard of them?” Dwalin asked. He sat on the other end of the sofa, leaning toward her with his elbows on his knees.

“In the Poor Quarter, we just go with the flow, if you know what I mean.” If they both had been thieves, they would have tumbled long ago – a knowing wink, a quick grab and a bold question, followed by a fevered coupling and fake promises to do it again soon. But no, this was a dwarf from another world.

“Well, the first Step is just looking at the other dwarf – just to get an overall impression, you know.” She sat still as his gaze roamed over her, studying the way the gold dress clung to her body and lingering on her now loose and messy hair. Heat rose unbidden into her cheeks.

“And if you like what you see?” Nori murmured.

Clearing his throat, he nodded. Then he stared down at his hands, loosely clasped in front of him. “But it's not cool to stare, so you look away to give the other person a chance to ignore it. If they want to keep going, they'll look back at you and meet your eyes. That's the second Step.” He looked up again, straight into her eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat. She licked her lips. “Yes.”

He held her gaze. “It's just a look, after all. Easy to deny, easy to back off if you change your mind. Then comes the next Step. You talk a little. Learn their gender and preference.”

“Talking is always good,” Nori said casually, ignoring her fluttering pulse. So, were they going to flirt a little? She could play the game as well as he could. “And we've talked, right? You know I'm a dam and I prefer dwarrows.”

“And you know I'm a dwarrow whose preference depends on the individual.” He fiddled with his coffee cup. “I've been with dwarrows and dwarrowdams.”

“Anyone I know?” Nori blurted out before she could stop herself.

He gave her an astonished look.

It was her turn to blush. “Never mind. So after you've checked them out, chatted them up, what's next? Send them a contract? An engraved invitation? You are hereby invited to... ”

She snapped her mouth shut before she said “fuck” and ruined the mood entirely.

He let it pass. “First you look. Then you talk. Then, if it's all right, you move on to touch,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. He wasn't looking at her again. “The fourth step is touching hand to hand.”

“You massaged my hand,” Nori pointed out. An idea burst into her brain. She sat up. “Are you telling me you've been courting me all this time? And I didn't know it? Are you saying that you want me?”

Dwalin froze. He looked at her, eyes wide and guilty. He didn't even seem to be breathing. There he was, a noble of Erebor and a warrior with a reputation for ferocity, and he sat watching her warily like a dwarfling who'd been caught stealing a cookie.

For a moment, Nori just stared at him. Then she shifted closer to him on the sofa and stretched out one hand. “I think I feel a little soreness in my hand right now.”

He relaxed, his tightened lips curving into a slight smile. “Glad to help.”

He scooted over closer, and took her hand in both of his. He massaged Nori's soft palm with his hard, callused fingers, sending a tingle of electricity through her. She had to bite her lip to keep herself from making some undignified sound of pleasure as his fingers pressed into the fleshy mound under her thumb. Warmth spread up her arm.

“So what's next?” she prompted.

Dwalin concentrated on the hand he was massaging, and didn't look up. “You touched my shoulder when you told me you were a dwarrowdam and preferred dwarrows.”

Nori smiled. “So, I was following the rules, even if I didn't know what they were. What was the Step, the touch or the words?”

“Both,” Dwalin replied. He released her hand, and she pouted a little. She missed his touch already.

“Did you like it?” she asked.

“Which?”

“Either or both,” Nori said. Step-taking might be fine for nobles, but it took far too long. “Did you like my – my steps?”

“Yes,” he said.

“So can I touch you again?”

“I'd like that,” Dwalin said, his voice sounding a little rough.

Finally. Nori stroked up his arm, up the bright minstrel's sleeve to his thick shoulder, feeling the hard muscle under the frivolous fabric. “You nobles make things so difficult. What other steps are there?”

“After the hand-to-shoulder Step comes hand-to-waist or hand-to-back,” Dwalin said. “We took that Step when we walked into the party and, I put my hand on the small of your back. Remember?”

He slipped his warm hand around her waist and pulled her close. Nori sighed with relief. She was more than ready to climb him like a tree. Twining her arms around his neck, she brought their faces close together. “Does anybody kiss anybody, sometime soon?”

“I think right about now would be good,” Dwalin said, his breath hot against her face. Their mouths met, nipping and sucking at lips, tongues exploring.

She pressed herself against him, arching her back and reaching one hand up to cup the back of his head. With the other hand she stroked the bristly crest of hair that stretched from his brow to the nape of his neck, exploring with her fingers the contrast between rough hair and smooth scalp.

They broke apart, panting.

“So that's the steps?” Nori asked. “Can't say it's not fun, but Mahal, talk about slow.”

“Oh, no, no. Not done yet. There's more,” Dwalin said with a grin.

Nori's jaw sagged open. “More rules?”

“We're only up to hand-to-head,” Dwalin said. “You did that step. Now it's my turn. Will you let me run my hands through your gorgeous hair?”

“It's a mess.” Reflexively she put up one hand to her loose and no doubt snarled hair.

“Let me,” he said, moving her hands away and carding his fingers through the remains of her braids. His hands, big and warm and nimble, stroked her head and untangled her hair. His blunt fingernails rasped up under her chin, stopping briefly to feel the pulse in her throat before moving gently to trace the line of her jaw. A thin spear of warmth spiked up from deep inside her, starting at the base of her spine and flowing up to fill her.

She let her hands fall to her sides and tipped her head back to give him greater access to her neck. It felt strange to let someone touch her throat – it was a moment before she realized how much trust she had granted him.

“Now?” she said, surprised to hear her voice gone husky.

“Not yet. Next step, hands to body,” he whispered.

She reached for him, grabbing fistfuls of his tunic, ready to rip it off. “With clothes or without?”

“Without is good,” he said.

The striped tunic came off easily under Nori's quick hands. She let her fingers trail through the curly dark brown hairs on his chest, tugged experimentally on the nipple ring in his left nipple. She was rewarded when his body bucked and he gave a slight gasp.

Dwalin took his time unlacing the bodice of her golden gown. His big hands were warm as his fingers delved into the space between her breasts, and rough as they brushed against her soft flesh. He was shaking a little as he freed her breasts from the bodice. He looked up at her, his breathing heavier.

“Now what?” Nori asked, letting her hand stroke down the side of his head to grab a handful of his rough beard.

“Mouth— Uh. Mouth to body – can I taste you? Let me,” Dwalin asked, and she curved her hand over the back of his head to guide him down to one of her nipples, now peaked and throbbing.

His mouth was wet and warm, and the nip of his teeth made the pit of her stomach contract. She arched her back, wanting more.

“You nobles have too many rules,” she gasped. Almost automatically, her hand reached down into the waistband of his leggings. “When do I – ”

He groaned at her touch.“Now. Yes.”

Her hand slipped into his clothes and found his cock, already stiff and straining against the confines of the leggings. She stroked him gently then reached down to cup his stones, which were pulled up tight against the shaft. His length filled her hand. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft and moved her hand carefully. “How do you like it? Show me.”

He gazed into her eyes as he thrust one hand down to cover hers. “Like this.”

She grinned at the blissful and concentrated expression on his face as she let him guide her hand. He liked it tighter and rougher than she would have expected. “Well, I guess the steps take you to a pretty good place after all.”

He blinked and focused on her. “There's more steps. Next one's pretty good.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“You're kidding,” she said. “More steps? Sweet Mahal on a silver spoon, you nobles must go out of your collective minds.”

Dwalin pulled their hands from inside his leggings and smiled. “Want to know what comes next?” He looked eager and young, very much at odds with his usual grim look.

“What,” she asked.

“Mouth to genitals.” He leered. “One of my personal favorites. Giving and receiving.”

She burst out laughing and squirmed a little in anticipation. “That's a Step of Courtship? I can't believe it.”

His expression turned serious. “You don't have to. Do you want to stop?”

“Not if you're offering,” Nori said, pulling him in for another kiss. “I just can't believe it's so formal.”

She helped him pull up her golden skirts until they were bunched around her waist, and lifted her hips so he could take off her underclothes. He stroked his broad hands over her thighs and kneaded her calves before bringing his hands together at the generous thatch of hair at the juncture of her legs. He dropped a kiss on her reddish curls.

“You are beautiful all over.” He buried his nose in her soft hair and inhaled deeply. “And you smell good too.”

Nori giggled, then bit her lip. She never giggled. Never. Then she gasped as he began to drop soft, tickling kisses on the closed folds of her labia. He slid down farther between her legs, and she watched, mesmerized, as he continued to kiss her. The bristling brown crest of hair was all she could see of him, so she stroked his hair with one hand. A sweet warmth began to fill her, relaxing her thighs apart and she let her head fall back and closed her eyes.

Without warning, the tip of his tongue traced a slender trail of wetness down her cleft and she groaned with pleasure at the tingle that swept across her skin. It was all she could do to hold still as his tongue continued its exploration, delving deeper between her soft folds until he found her pearl, throbbing with need, and licked and sucked.

To keep herself from clutching at Dwalin's head she fisted her hands in the cushions of the sofa and tipped her head farther back. The tingle had given way to sparks of excitement, followed by heat curling up from the base of her spine, spreading like a crackling fire driven by wind.

He dragged his teeth gently across the straining bud before setting to work again with his tongue, and Nori could feel her muscles tighten, pulling together until she was arched like a bow and straining against his mouth. At the last moment, he pressed two fingers into her, reaching up to stroke the tender spot inside her, and she came undone with a shout.

Panting, she lay back and shivered for a few moments before lifting her head to stare at him with something like awe.

He grinned, his lips and chin wet. “Like that?”

She nodded, pulling at his shoulders until he moved up far enough to kiss her, plunging his tongue into her mouth. He tasted salty and musky, a taste that must have come from herself. She wrapped her arms tight around him.

His hardened cock pressed against her belly, and she realized that he was still wearing the minstrel tights. She loosened her arms. “What are you doing still dressed?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” he said, and quickly shucked off his tights. Freed, his cock jutted out proudly and he curled one fist around it. With his other hand, he reached out to her. “Might want to take the dress off.”

She let him pull her to her feet, untangling the dress from her waist and letting it fall to her feet. Dori would probably be furious at its mistreatment. Too late to worry about that now. She reached up to loop her arms around his neck, and he gathered her in close, nude bodies pressed together as they kissed.

When they came up for air, she pushed lightly at his shoulder. “Now you lay down on your back.”

He sat down and lay back obligingly, stretching out his arms to welcome her onto his lap. She squeezed his outstretched hands and then moved them aside before kneeling between his knees. She looked at him for permission, and seeing the anticipation on his face, curled the fingers of one hand around his shaft and cupped his stones with her other hand. Then, with a wicked grin, she swirled her tongue over the red crown.

His hips arched up toward her as he groaned in pleasure. She took him in her mouth, licking and sucking until she could feel him trembling beneath her touch, and then she straddled him. Fitting his cock to her entrance, she lowered herself onto him. They moaned together.

She rode him, changing the angle of her thrusts to let his cock stroke against that sensitive spot inside, until she felt lightning spark up her spine again. He clutched at her hips and pulled her down to meet him, snarling ferociously as he thrust up into her. She picked up the pace, driving herself down onto him until she could feel him lose the rhythm and he shook with his release.

As their breathing slowed and evened out, she curled up against him with her head on his shoulder, threading her fingers idly through the thick pelt on his chest. She toyed with the gold bar that pierced his left nipple until he folded one large hand over hers and held it quiet.

“Do you always do it like that? Follow the steps one by one?” she asked.

“Not every time,” Dwalin replied. “After a while, you get to know what the other person wants and what they like. But it's always about paying attention.”

“A while?” Nori angled her head up to look cautiously at him. “You mean, like in a long-term relationship?”

“I had fun,” he said, not looking at her. “Don't you want to do it again?”

“Doesn't it get boring?” Nori looked around the elegantly simple apartment, her eyes automatically hunting for the door. She'd had fun, yes, but she hadn't made any promises – and she wasn't sure what Dwalin expected of her now.

“No, it's not boring, because it's always a little different. You can watch someone dance, or fight, and you can figure out their style, but that doesn't mean you know everything about them. They're still going to surprise you every time.” Dwalin glanced down at her. “Sound all right to you? Let's just see how it goes.”

“Sure, that'll be different,” Nori said. Reaching up, she put her arms around him and kissed him. Maybe it would be all right. Probably it wouldn't, and it would end badly. But maybe...

Nori gazed out the large apartment window. They were high enough up in the mountain that big windows were possible – no neighbors close enough to look in, and the added benefit of the extra light that came in through the discreet, well-hidden openings in the mountainside. The afternoon sun was streaming in, turning the motes of dust into glitter.

She sighed. “Dori will be shocked if she thinks I've gone all respectable.”

“Let's give it a couple of days before we tell her,” Dwalin said. “Then if something else goes wrong, it will distract her.”

A sudden sound like the rushing wind of a hurricane filled the air. From somewhere deep within the mountain, Dwalin heard Prince Thorin's voice shouting a warning.

“Dragon!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few years ago, a mainstream romance author named Linda Howard created a list of the "12 Steps of Intimacy," based on the work of sociologist Desmond Morris. Usually the steps are spread out over time as a relationship grows, but I thought it would be fun to use it as a seduction technique.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fall of Erebor

Everything was smoke and fire and terror.

Nori had bolted for home. Dwalin fought alongside the Ereborean Guard until the dragon had smashed into the great treasure-hold itself. When it became clear that Erebor was lost, he limped out with the rest of the endless stream of refugees. 

He found Nori outside, holding a weeping Dori who clutched a small jacket. “I couldn't hold on. Oh, Mahal, I couldn't hold on.”

They searched grimly among the refugees. Nori spotted the dwarfling first, curled up near a boulder along the riverside. Pale and dry-eyed, hands tucked into pockets, Ori stared at nothing.

Dori rushed up and snatched Ori into her arms, scolding and crying. Nori and Dwalin followed silently.   
After a while, Ori said, “I'm hungry.”

“Oh, my poor little treasure, oh my darling,” Dori sobbed. “We don't have any food. Everything is gone. We don't even have anything to buy food with, even if there were someplace we could buy anything.”

Ori reached into one little pocket, and drew out a handful of stars that winked and shone in the evening light. “We have these.” 

It was a diamond necklace, the same necklace that Nori had stolen from the snobby dwarrowdam at the banquet.

Nori stared at it. “Where did you get that?”

“A lady gave it to me,” Ori said. “I was hiding from the dragon, but the lady dragged me out. She pulled me and ran right toward the dragon. I was scared. Then the Golden Bell fell down. It landed on the lady.”

“Oh, no,” said Dori, her fingers over her mouth. 

“I couldn't see her legs, because they were under the bell. She put this in my hand,” Ori said. “She said, Remember me. Then she pushed me. A-and I ran.”

Dwalin swallowed hard, then nodded. “Lady Julis.”

“We will remember,” Nori promised.

-

 

On the Withered Heath, the sun shone pitilessly on the burned and blackened bones of a dwarf. A cold wind toyed with a few charred scraps of clothing that hung from the bones, making them flap like ragged banners. On one charred finger-bone, the skeleton wore a ring set with a blood-red diamond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to givemeadecentusername, who beta'd this story and helped me brainstorm a lot of good ideas. Thanks, m'dear, you rock!


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